


Drop by Drop

by acuteneurosis



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A Belle by Many Other Names, A rose by any other name, Accidents, Being Lost, Child Death, Child Neglect, Deals, Disease, F/M, Gen, Plans, Questionably Canon Compliant, Reincarnation, repeated character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22140106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acuteneurosis/pseuds/acuteneurosis
Summary: Courage is not accumulated in a moment. It is the result of days, weeks, months, and years of decisions. Even lifetimes. She carries no memories of her pasts, but each time her road crosses his it will always be a test of her courage.
Relationships: Belle & Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold





	1. Iseabail

It was three days journey to the village Iseabail was seeking, hardly far enough to be any trouble. At least for a healthy body.

Hers had been ready to crawl into its grave before she left.

“I don’t want to die,” she had told her neighbor, a motherly creature with several children of her own grown and gone. Mistress Glenna had shaken her head sadly.

“Wants have nothin’ to do wi’ it,” the older woman had stated. “We’re all fer the soil, want or not.”

“If I could run, I would,” Iseabail had whispered, her hands clenching loosely, the lack of strength frustrating her.

“Only one’s ever outrun death hereabouts,” Glenna had nodded, jerking her head towards the south. “Limped,” she corrected, with a sneer and a shudder. “Devil touched coward.”

“Rumplest-,” Iseabail froze at Glenna’s look.

Coward who had fled the wars, who had lived instead of died. The crippled spinner, whose superior goods had become suddenly sullied by his tarnished reputation. The legend from the neighbors of the south, the reason why no one else had dared come home from the Ogre War alive.

The Dark One.

Had it even been a year since those rumors had come screaming up the way? A name once cursed in spite now cursed in terror.

“He won’ help you, Bail. Not fer gold and not fer flesh,” Iseabail had flinched at those words. Unwed, untouched, but if half the rumors of his appearance now were true, she had no desire to barter herself off to a beast. “Face death. There’s less t’fear from that.”

But Iseabail had been too afraid. Afraid of the pain in her limbs, afraid of the darkness that passed over her eyes from time to time. Afraid of the stuttering sound of her own heart as she had tripped, limped, down from her humble village to the home of the new Dark One. Afraid of the darkness that had curled around her as she had slept on the cold ground in the damp woods, waking up becoming just a little harder every day.

She was so afraid of dying like this.

But she was also afraid of the rumors. Afraid of the price. Afraid of the Dark One.

She might have made it, if she had not sat down, just a short distance from the village, and listened so intently as a cart had creaked by. The passengers were speaking in nervous titters, and they glanced over their shoulders every so often.

“Been in a rage all morning, he has.”

“Dark doings last night. Those lights in the woods.”

“Aye, and his son not here this morning. Dark magic that, human offerings.”

“Beau’ful day to go to market.”

“Aye,” the driver agreed.

Iseabail trembled, from weakness or fear, she didn’t know. The Dark One would not help her. She had come so far, against all advice, against sense. She just had to make it a little further.

She looked down the road, her eyes taking in the foggy shapes of what had to be small huts, similar to ones she had known her whole life. She wondered briefly if the people in those little homes would guide her to her destination. Or if they would recoil in fear and disgust at how badly she wanted to escape death.

Just like him.

She closed her failing eyes, trying instead to call up the images that had brought her this far. Her mother’s smile, teaching her how to embroider her dresses. Her father, tall and strong and brave, going off to fight in the Ogre War, kissing her mother and giving Iseabail his _good_ hunting knife, telling her to be a good girl and to help her mother. Young Bhaltair, who had gone off to the War only a few years later, handsome and courageous and promising his love for her would see them through the separation.

Her breath caught as she realized, again, that all these happy memories were of the dead. People who had not survived the famine that came with war. People that had not survived the violence.

She could not forgive him. Nothing in her future would be better than what had been left behind. And he, the Dark One, could not be forgiven for seeing a future that her loved ones would never reach.

She realized, with a sudden panic, that her breathing was stuttering again. She staggered as she stood, searching desperately for a passerby.

“Help-“ she rasped weakly. “Someone- help me.”

* * *

Rumplestiltskin threw the table against the wall, almost howling in his frustration. One promise, just _one_! The only one that mattered. And he had broken it.

_“You coward!”_

The words echoed in his head, his hands still grasping at his son’s cold, phantom fingers. The dagger thudded softly against his side, reminding him with each step exactly what his powers had cost him.

Coward. Ha! He had lived that one down for years. For Bae. Now even his own son turned against him. Coward was nothing. Liar. That one stung.

There were panicked shouts from outside. They barely registered.

“On the road-“

“Not…dead?”

“Bring the cart!”

“…long journey.”

His head perked up at that one. Magic and time were tricky things. Was Bae already back? Was it possible? Rumplestiltskin ducked out of the house, pulling his cloak tight as he tried to see what was going on by the main road.

“Never seen anything like it,” one man murmured, shaking his head. “In the middle of the road, pale as death…”

Rumplestiltskin almost could not breathe. Not dead. Not his son, his Bae

“What’s a woman like that got business wit’ ‘round here?” the man’s wife trembled, grasping her husband’s arm and looking up the road. She spotted Rumplestiltskin and recoiled slightly. Her husband noticed and led them away, towards their home. The Dark One did not even flinch.

A woman. Not his Bae.

Well, he had better things to do than watch the villagers carry her body into town, argue over it, and then burn the thing. His son was missing. There was nothing left for him in this place. It was time to move on.


	2. Maybel

“Evera, it’s well past sundown. Give it to me. You need your rest.”

“She’s sleeping,” Evera shook her head. “I don't want to wake her.”

“It’s always sleeping. Let me take it from you. You need your rest.”

“Her fever’s back.”

“Evera, please, give me the baby.”

“Tyrell, look at her. She’s best with me. I’ll rest soon, I promise.”

Tyrell looked at his wife, a new mother, and tried to understand again why she was so attached to the small bundle that was in her arms. They had talked about it, especially when it became apparent that the child was not well. But Evera refused to give up. Maybel was their treasure, a gift, special. She was going to do something amazing someday.

Maybe. Tyrell had moved far past skepticism in his own desperation. The child was not going to survive. Would his wife?

“She might wake up soon,” Evera said suddenly. “Maybe she’ll want to eat.”

“Maybe,” he agreed cautiously. “Evera…”

“I want her to get well again,” came the wistful interruption. “She’s going to be so beautiful, Tyrell. Just look at her eyes. They’re so blue. They’re shining.”

“Evera-“

“She’s going to enslave you,” Evera told her husband slyly, glancing up from the baby to look at him. “I know that’s why you won’t look at her. You know she’ll take your heart right out of your chest.”

“Very likely,” he agreed, glancing nervously from his wife’s face to the child’s, then back. “But right now, we should be going to bed. It’s late.”

“Alright,” Evera finally agreed. “We’ll go to bed. All of us."

Tyrell watched his wife and her burden as they crossed the room. He had to do something.

* * *

“I thought you were heading to the next town,” Evera frowned as she saw her husband come in. “We need something to help Maybel, and you said you would check with the herbalist there to see-”

“Not tonight,” he told his wife sharply, pulling the door shut and moving the table to brace against it. “He’s here.”

“The Dark One?” Evera gasped, glancing around. “He’s come here? To our village? Why?”

“The blacksmith’s son,” Tyrell guessed in a whisper. “Just ‘bout lost his hand in that accident. Dwayne’s nearly beside himself over the mess. Must be gone further’n we thought to summon that _monster_ here.”

There was a long silence. “Tyrell…” Evera began. He looked up at his wife who held his gaze for a moment and then looked down at their baby. His eyes widened in horror.

“No,” he hissed. “Not that creature. Not in my house. Not for that.”

“They say he’s the most powerful magician in the world. He might know a spell, have a potion-“

“And take what in return?” Tyrell snapped, voice low, eyes darting to the door. “Do you think that creature will save Dwayne’s boy for nothing? How many of our children would you lose to save the babe in your arms?”

She recoiled, pulling the bundle closer. “Maybel’s dying,” Evera choked out, desperately searching for sympathy in her husband’s face. “If he can save her, I’ll give-“

“Anything? Anything, Evera? Think hard on that, while he deals with our friend. Think hard on that promise when he takes Dwayne’s hand in place of Anson’s. Or when he takes all the fuel for their fires, or the metals for their trade. Think hard, Evera. What do you have to give him that’s worth the life in your arms?”

“She’ll be strong,” Evera pressed. “You’ll love her, Tyrell. Everyone will love her-“

“Even that beast?” She winced. “Mayhap he’ll love her well enough to save her for nothing. Or maybe,” her husband stalked away from the door, pointing at the too quiet child in her arms, “he’ll take her. When she’s grown to be that woman loved by everyone. Think hard on that, Evera. Are you that desperate?”

“No,” she wept softly. “Tyrell, no-“

“She isn’t strong,” he said solemnly, almost gently. “You said yourself. She’s dying. She isn’t strong enough for this world. Let her go.”

“My baby…” Evera almost pleaded. “My child.”

“There’ll be others,” he promised. “Strong and brave. Ready.”

They were not words meant to comfort, but he did keep her distracted long enough that she didn’t think of the Dark One again before his maniacal laughter echoed through the night.

* * *

“Now, what seems to be the matter, dearie?” Rumplestiltskin asked with a grand gesture. She jumped, which was a poor choice from her kneeling position, and tumbled backwards, trying to put some distance between them. He barely noticed. The reaction was normal after thirty years.

“Y-you… Y-you’re-“

“The Dark One. Yes, yes. I know. Now, since we have that out of the way, why don’t you answer my question, and we wrap up this… unpleasant visit.”

She flinched away from his sneer, but he was used to that too. Her eyes rested on him for maybe a second longer than most could manage before her gaze settled on the ground in front of her.

“My child… was sick.”

The sneer became more pronounced.

“Was?” he queried, flicking imaginary dust off of his shoulder. It took her a moment to answer.

“Yes. Was. She was sick and now… I just want my child back. Please.”

An all too familiar sentiment. His nose twitched as he felt the desperation rolling off of her in waves. But he had been to this village only a night ago, and had felt nothing like this when he had left the smith and the boy. Too little, too late.

“Magic doesn’t bring back the dead,” he informed her abruptly. “Call me in a little sooner next time, dearie. Maybe then we can deal.”

And he was gone, in a puff of purple smoke, to lurk in his castle and pray that he too would not find his efforts too little, too late.


End file.
